


Havin' A Party

by rispacooper



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Intoxication, M/M, Sexual Identity, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank might be blue and furry, but he’s not the only freak in the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Havin' A Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dlasta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dlasta), [coffeebuddha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebuddha/gifts).



> This story contains spoilers for the end of the movie and a total lack of concern on my part for the comic book canon.

Hank hadn’t expected to be invited to the party—if _party_ was the correct term for the gathering downstairs. The return from Cuba had been hurried and anxious for many reasons, Xavier’s health and the worldwide attention on mutants were just a part of it. There was a nervous sickness in his stomach when he thought of either, along with odd flashes of heat that banished the cold. Heat like rage, perhaps, at least how it was often described, though Hank had never felt rage before and couldn’t be sure. But even that seemed like a distraction, like something to fill the places in him that felt empty.

He wasn’t sure if the others felt the same loss that he did with Angel gone, with Raven.

Raven. He sighed and thought back to the others.

If they had, they hadn’t mentioned it, not to Hank.

And then there was Charles still in the hospital, leaving them alone in his giant house. The days were filled with aimless quiet and too much to think about.

Hank had tried to push it aside as he had always done, all the mournful confusion that had nothing to do with science, but days in the lab hadn’t brought him any closer to a cure.

Honestly there might not be one. It was even possible as he thought of Raven—of _Mystique_ —that he didn’t want to find one that would reverse his condition. When Hank looked in the mirror, when he could bear to for the sake of study, he saw the same freak he had always been, only with a fine layer of fur over most of his newly muscular body and Raven’s yellow eyes.

Now he looked the part, he supposed. Now he had a reason to stay locked up in his lab, far away from the world. It was the one place where he was wanted, where he was good, smart, and not clumsy. The place where he belonged and no one could say otherwise.

So when after three days of uncertain, somber silence, Alex had taken Xavier’s car into town with the vow to bring back something to drink that wasn’t an old man’s drink, Hank had left him and Sean to it and disappeared downstairs.

When he’d come up some time later to head to his room there had been loud music coming from the kitchen radio and he’d caught a glimpse of the two of them swigging from a bottle of brown liquor and singing. The lyrics had been carefree and Sean thankfully had not been drunk enough to lose control and shatter all the glass in the mansion. But they’d both stopped at seeing him.

“There you are, bozo.” Alex had spoken first, as he always had to, grinning sideways at Hank. “Pull up a glass.” He’d been obviously inebriated, flushed and staring with glazed eyes at Hank’s bare feet, his equally bare chest under his lab coat.

With his new fur it was too hot to wear a shirt. Hank no longer sweated, as he’d discovered to his dismay, and when he got hot his mouth tended to fall open, and it was too…beast-like. He’d rather avoid any other reminders of what he was. But at the sight of the two of them having their party he’d forgotten about his appearance, just for a moment. Then he’d seen Alex’s stare.

Alex had a talent for that, making Hank uncertain and self-conscious no matter that he could crush Alex with one hand now. Hank supposed it fit with Alex’s power, making chaos, wreaking havoc, which was an interesting idea, temperament that matched mutant abilities. Or was it the other way around?

It would imply that there was something inherently animal about Hank which couldn’t be true, he’s always valued his brain over everything. He shuddered from the thought, thought it was something to think about that wasn’t the way he’d stammered out a negative reply to the invitation, or how he’d thought he’d seen sadness in their eyes at that, or how Alex had frowned.

Hank lay on his bed in just his trousers and listened to the distant noises from the kitchen until they faded.

Wake, he thought suddenly as he recalled that sadness, the need to not be alone anymore in Alex’s eyes. Memorial. It was anything but a party they were throwing downstairs. He should have stayed no matter how awkward his presence would have been.

He stood up but then didn’t move, scowling in total confusion at his door, at the sound of _knocking_ on his door. Then he twitched and walked over to it to let Alex in.

He wasn’t sure if he had new or enhanced senses but he knew it was Alex before he opened the door. Who else would it be _but_ Alex Summers with his smart mouth and his attitude? Sean didn’t care enough to knock on his door.

It was another distracting thought. He and Alex weren’t friends, those moments in Cuba aside. Moments in battle made them comrades at best. Alex certainly didn’t like him, he couldn’t. The proof was there in all his names for Hank.

“Hey, Beast.” Alex leaned against the doorjamb, the bottle held between two fingers of one hand, his other hand at his jeans. He was grinning, though the way his lower lip was distended made him seem unhappy. But his movements were loose, fluid like the amber-colored alcohol in the bottle he waved in front of Hank’s face. “You’re no good at getting drunk, bozo. Do I have to show you everything?”

“I’m sorry,” Hank offered immediately only to scowl at himself. Alex just stared at him, at least until Hank stopped biting his lip. “I didn’t think I was…”

“Invited? What the hell did you think that was?” Alex wasn’t putting down the bottle, so, _very_ carefully, Hank closed his hand—a hand, not a paw—around the neck so that his claws barely clicked on the glass.

Alex had a point, Hank could admit it. But when he inhaled with the bottle at his lips the fumes made him cough. Alex’s sudden smile was not reassuring.

“Come on. You’ll inject yourself for science but you won’t drink a little whiskey?”

“Dares are extremely juvenile,” Hank answered as calmly as he could manage and felt his stomach flip before he’d even taken a sip. Alex was pushing forward, slow if not clumsy, and shaking his head in mock disappointment. When he was close enough to touch, Hank hurriedly tipped the bottle back. He held his breath and swallowed three times before the stinging taste hit his tongue and he starting coughing in earnest.

His eyes welled up instantly and he felt himself burning at Alex’s satisfied crow of laughter.

A joke, Hank thought faintly as he sat on the bed and glanced over, glanced _up_ because Alex was still close. His fingers brushed Hank’s on the bottle as he took it from him. Hank frowned but let it go and watched Alex hold it up.

“Because things always get worse and almost never get better,” he toasted, his gaze surprisingly steady, and then took a drink. Hank studied his mouth, his throat, then looked away.

The bottle appeared before him again.

“Where’s Sean?” Hank could barely speak.

“Praying to the toilet god.” Alex deadpanned. Hank felt his mouth form a circle. He hadn’t thought about that fate for himself on the occasion of ever getting drunk though of course it was possible.

“Is he all right? Too much alcohol has a deleterious eff…”

“He’s fine. Just needs to sleep it off.” The answer was quick and strangely pitiless. Hank met Alex’s eyes. “He just can’t hold his liquor.”

If sickness were the result, Hank wondered why anyone would drink at all. But then he remembered exactly why and took the bottle. Alex was burning to the touch. The glass of the bottle was warm too. Hank wet his lips and felt the room dip, as though the shadows moved or the lights grew brighter.

Intoxication, he thought vaguely, and pushed up his glasses.

“Because in this place…” The words weighed heavily and tasted new but right. “In this place we _will_ make things better.” He _had_ to believe that, after everything that had happened. He swallowed another mouthful and shut his eyes. The bottle slid away, whiskey doubtlessly gleaming on Alex’s mouth.

“We will?” Hank wasn’t sure if Alex was truly asking but he looked up. Alex’s eyes flew up to meet his, too quickly. His face was still red, his neck as well, all the way down to the edge of his T-shirt.

“I’m hot,” Hank told him, aware that his mouth had fallen open. If he could have had a blush response anymore, he was sure he would have then.

Alex blinked and then threw back his head to laugh.

“You drunk already, Beast-man?”

He was so hot, hot to the touch, the mouth of the bottle warm like him. The whiskey still stung, but when Hank licked his lips, they were sweet.

“I…” Hank thought about it. It seemed fast, but then he hadn’t eaten any dinner or lunch. His empty stomach would have increased the rate of absorption. “I’m not sure. It’s very possible.”

“ _Very possible_ ,” Alex mimicked him before plopping down on the bed next to him. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve never been drunk before,” Hank admitted, not quite miserably, but close. He tensed for more laughter but Alex stopped with the bottle on the bed between them, most of its contents gone.

“Why not? Ever smart ass college boy I ever met liked to think he could drink.” Alex’s tone was nearly a sneer. Hank shifted, then burped. It took the scowl off Alex’s face at least.

“I…there wasn’t much partying in the science department. Although one time we built a still from lab equipment.”

“There you go!” The clap on his back was unexpected. Hank was so surprised he forgot to comment. He _did_ glance over, but Alex looked away before their eyes could meet. “You should have used it and invited some girls over.”

“Ah.” Hank looked down at his feet. His big, big feet. “There weren’t any girls in my department.”

It was all he was going to say about that. Alex wouldn’t understand. Alex had a powerful, dangerous mutation and a normal body. Above average by many standards. On the scale of human physical beauty, Alex Summers, with his muscles and his clear skin and full lips and symmetrical features, rated high.

“There weren’t any girls where I was either.” Alex let out a long, long breath and didn’t seem to notice Hank’s slight jump. The hand on Hank’s shoulder, still there, warm and steady, slid up over Hank’s shoulder blade. “It’s okay.”

Intoxication, Hank realized again, though the thought seemed to spin around and around. Alex was drunk too.

He swallowed.

“A…a university is hardly a penal institution…” Even if he had locked himself away in his lab, never to see the light of day. He wasn’t sure what he ought to say. He’d never spoken to a convict before—not that he hadn’t already spoken with Alex, but he’d forgotten Alex’s background when Alex had taunted him throughout their training. He’d been more irritated than frightened. But Alex was…Alex was a criminal. Prison-hardened. Dangerous.

The giggle burst out of him.

Alex looked over with his eyebrows up. Hank did his best to stop laughing.

“Sorry, I…” He’d never talked to a go-go dancer before either until he’d come here. Other mutants either. Xavier made all things seem possible. “Sorry,” he said again and wondered what he looked like to make Alex smile at him, stunned and amused. “We ah…we did attempt to use the still once, but some boys from a fraternity came and took it.”

“Did you pound them into the dirt?”

Hank jerked up. Alex wouldn’t look away. His eyes were wide and intent. Hank finally shook his head.

“You could have. Even before…” Alex waved at him, his hand grazing Hank’s chest. Hank covered his shiver with a shrug. “You should.” Alex was serious. “You can’t let people walk all over you--” Alex abruptly fell silent. Hank wondered if he was thinking of that beach, of Charles in the hospital. He reached for the bottle but Hank took it and drank the last of it with a lip-smacking swallow.

“People are antagonistic for many reasons.” His voice was husky. “Some are hiding their true evil natures behind a mask of sanity. Others are only too sane but filled with hate. And some people are… They…the fraternity boys were threatened and scared. I was…I am very smart.”

“I know.” Alex yanked the bottle away only to glare at it and let it fall to the bed.

“And others are consumed with anger of their own, one that drives them. You can’t reason with it.” He didn’t know what reason had sent Alex to prison. He could guess, abuse and poverty and the sensation of always being outside, never belonging, and then a different sort of angry fear, the fear that he could hurt someone. Carelessly, in a moment of rage, really hurt someone. There were shades of the man who had been Erik, _Magneto_ now, in Alex, but Alex hadn’t left on that beach, he’d stayed, because Alex was afraid of his power hurting someone else, just like Hank was.

Hank squeezed his eyes closed. He could hear Alex breathing, fast and wet. He even heard his long inhale before he decided to speak again.

“You forgot another reason, egghead.”

Hank opened his eyes to frown at the man next to him. Alex had his chin up in order to glare at him…because yes, Alex was smaller than Hank now. Hank had forgotten that too.

He pushed that idea away for later and focused through the shiny brown haze. Then he nodded.

“You mean the,” he coughed, “the love impulse.” He adjusted his glasses again. Alex’s hand dropped to his jeans, curling loosely over his knee. “It does often express itself in terms of conflict, particularly in juvenile individuals. Hair pulling, name calling and such.”

Alex straightened. Hank twisted to look at him as Alex scrubbed at his cheeks. His one glare back at Hank was fierce. Hank’s mouth opened.

“Oh.” There was more to be said, he was sure. Alex twitched and moved to jump up. Hank was hardly aware that he’d moved too until he saw his paw—his hand—on Alex’s arm. He held him easily, not even really trying.

“Look, I’m not a--”

“Oh,” Hank repeated himself, cutting Alex off. Alex pulled harder to get free and this time Hank let him.

Alcohol inhibits inhibition. The repetitive phrasing was off, the thought was not. Hank had never done this before either.

“Alex.” It was all he could manage for a moment. Then his brain kicked in to save him, or damn him, as it often did. “There were…a…a series of studies done by Alfred Kinsey…studies about sex.” He was so hot. He couldn’t close his mouth. “The average American male is hardly purely heterosexual. As it is, they estimate ten percent are strongly homosexual and the rest are somewhat attracted to other men.” He could feel the scared hostility rising from Alex and hurried on. “And when I read that, I thought…”

“What? Freaks?” It came out of Alex like leaking acid, raw and corrosive. Hank didn’t like hearing it from him. It was bad enough to feel one kind of freak, but two… Hank couldn’t let him go on like that, couldn’t make the same mistake he had with Raven.

“I thought… _so, I’m not so different then_. In one thing at least.” Hank had to work for a smile but it was easy to wiggle his toes. Alex blinked down at them, then back up at Hank. The line between his eyes took a few moments to disappear. Hank gestured at himself once it was gone. “Not that it matters now.” He made the joke soft. He knew what no cure meant. He’d think about the rest of what Alex had said once Alex was gone, dream about what it might have meant if Alex had really wanted him.

“What?” He didn’t think Alex was aware of how loud his breathing was. If he had been, surely he would try to control himself. “I don’t get you at all, Poindexter. So you’re just never going to get laid again? Because of some fur?”

“Again?” Hank inhaled too sharply for Alex not to notice his slip. He shot a look over and found Alex quiet, not laughing, not even smiling. He was leaning drunkenly to one side, studying Hank, but his stare was level, his eyes heavy-lidded. Hank tried to guess what Alex was thinking but was still surprised when Alex leaned in to whisper, “You ain’t never been laid either, bozo?”

Hank couldn’t answer. But he didn’t need to, that other, older, harder look appeared in Alex’s eyes again, just for a moment, something greedy and desperate before he crooked a smile that was disarmingly asymmetrical. “I can fix that if you want.”

Hank’s breathing stopped, stopped absolutely, but the reservoir of oxygen in his brain kept it working, made him nod when he couldn’t think, and then he was gasping in disbelieving lungfuls of air when Alex put his hand between his legs.

“Beast man.” Alex was breathing with him, drunk and loud. “What are you packing now?”

That…it didn’t make any sense that Hank could find. He wasn’t carrying a firearm.

“Packing?” It left him quietly and Alex moved his hand. Hank felt friction and pressure and then the hot, hot pounding of arousal, the dizzying rush of blood loss and tension in his balls. A small moan escaped. Alex only undid the button on Hank’s pants, the zipper, never once looking away from Hank’s face until the moment when he realized Hank was not wearing underwear.

He’d outgrown them, Hank wanted to explain. They constrained him now, but Alex seemed to understand that with one look. He stared, wide-eyed, shocked, for a long time, until Hank dug his hands into the bedding and closed his eyes.

“Blue,” Alex breathed. “Big.” He laughed, once. “Shit.”

Hank didn’t get a chance to move away to end the humiliating moment. Alex curled his fingers around the shaft and Hank felt himself swell and stiffen under the touch.

“Alex, please, I…” There was no need for mockery or pity, he wanted to say, but stopped at the encroaching, bewildering wave of heat, whiskey-scent and sweat and heavy man-smell. Something, _Alex_ , was hot against him and breathing hard against his neck. Inhaling, Hank realized.

“You smell different,” Alex slurred before licking his lips sloppily, his tongue momentarily dragging over Hank’s fur. He didn’t pull away. Hank couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. He put a hand up, just over Alex’s back, thinking that he had claws, he had _fur_ , he shouldn’t.

Alex disagreed. He moved the hand on Hank’s dick and then made a pleased sound when he found the head wet.

“Let me jack you.” Alex was begging. Hank jerked his body upward in an uncertain yes, then opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling when Alex pulled his hand away to spit on it. When he brought it back down his grip was tighter, harder. Meaner. Hank moaned again. If Alex didn’t stop this things were going to get messy.

“Alex.” He didn’t meant to say it but the breath at his throat had him shivering helplessly. Alex stroked him like Hank stroked himself when he was alone, after Raven had sat in his lap, after Alex had spent hours tormenting him.

“Shut up, bozo,” Alex bit out against him, his mouth, his hand, still moving. Hank shook his head but shut up, then couldn’t bear it anymore, not with his hips pushing up, his _dick_ sliding between Alex Summers’s fingers. He looked down.

He got the impression of many things, an erect penis, flushed and dark enough to be almost indigo, the gleam of pre-ejaculate, the sheen of it on Alex’s fingers, Alex’s _fingers_ around thick, heavy purple-blue, and Alex’s body pushing closer, the tight strain of his jeans. Then Hank closed his eyes again to keep from embarrassing himself. He let his head loll back, his mouth fall open.

“Alex.” Even with his eyes shut, the world tilted, glowed red and all-consuming. He arched up, panting like a dog. “Alex, please.”

“Yeah.” Alex turned, pressing against his leg but it wasn’t enough. Hank tightened the hand on Alex’s back though he shouldn’t. Alex only made a sound. “Yeah, Beast man. Bozo. Beast.”

“I…” Hank was so hard. It hurt and felt amazing and Alex’s grip only got tighter, his hand faster. Hank remembered that hand, _just_ fitting around the girth of him and heard Alex swallow hungrily beneath his ear.

“Yeah,” Hank echoed him, turning toward that sound and feeling the surprised puff of air against his mouth as he realized his hand had slid up to Alex’s head and buried itself in his hair to pull his head back for a kiss. And Alex…Alex let him.

There was the first press of his claws against Alex’s scalp, there was Alex’s breathless, eager shudder, and then the world behind Hank’s eyes flashed bright and he spurted into Alex’s hand, over his own chest. The pleasure was there, blinding for only a moment and then it was gone and he was shaking weakly as Alex continued to pull more semen from him, mumbling things Hank couldn’t understand until Hank finally whined in discomfort.

He thought Alex would move, but he didn’t, not until Hank opened his eyes.

They were close, mouths all but touching. When Hank inhaled, Alex was practically on his tongue. He rather thought a more experienced man would know what to do. Hank was not experienced. He was hardly a man.

“I have teeth,” he stuttered, willing his brain to reawaken, but his thoughts stayed dreamy and sluggish, apparently gone out of him like the mess Alex had yet to wipe off his hand. “Canines. I…big ones. I can’t kiss you.”

He wondered if it was the wrong thing to say. Even hopelessly inebriated he could see Alex tense up. His eyes darted to the side as he frowned.

“I’m not…I…what do you think I am?” It wasn’t a sneer, but Hank thought it was meant to be. He scowled and pushed without thinking. If his brain wasn’t going to save him then he’d act for himself.

Alex hit the bed, bouncing gently for a second. On his back as he now was, his aroused state was even more obvious, pushing against his jeans. Hank wanted to pull them away, to see what Alex was packing, as it were. But he looked up at Alex’s flushed face, his dilated pupils.

“A solid five on Alfred Kinsey’s scale,” he answered honestly and felt a sound from deep within him emerge, something embarrassingly similar to a growl as he dropped a paw over Alex’s crotch, over the dick that twitched for him.

“Fuck, smart alec.” Alex’s head went back. His eyes got even wider when Hank grinned.

“Precisely.”

The boldness was unlike him, but Alex’s hands came up, one still wet and sticky, and splayed over Hank’s bare chest. It called him down to arch over Alex’s open sprawl, push a knee between his legs, hold him to the bed by his hip for one second.

He didn’t know what to do once there, but Alex’s fingertips explored his shoulders and his swearing when Hank tore clumsily at his jeans was both frightened and viciously satisfied. He didn’t seem to see a monster, or didn’t for long. He reached up to pull Hank closer and tried to shift his hips off the bed. It was awkward, exciting contact that only got worse when he opened his legs wider. Hank barely fit between them.

No, not worse. Hank’s thought was wrong. Better. Alex seemed to agree.

“Make it better, bozo,” Alex ordered him, bossy and so needy, and Hank held himself up with one hand, something he could do now, almost effortlessly. It was something to make guys like Alex stare at him with awed, impressed smiles, as though Alex couldn’t send him crashing through walls, as though Hank would ever use his strength to hurt him. That wasn’t how Hank would choose to express his feelings.

He watched his fingers pad over the length of Alex’s dick, felt it hard against his palm. He couldn’t breath as the curved, smooth edge of one claw went from Alex’s balls to the glistening, dark head of his penis. He felt his mouth water, though Alex’s response was more immediate. He panted and bent one knee to pull Hank in closer. It made Hank want things. Undefined, uncertain, vague, messy things. Alex’s hands on him were not helping.

He squeezed Alex’s dick, stroking upwards as he’d do for himself, and when Alex made a grateful noise, Hank did it again, watching intently as Alex closed his eyes. Alex jerked up when Hank’s hand slid down, over and over again, with a little hitch in his breathing each time. The rhythm was incredible, like a song, loud and enthusiastic, enough to make him want to dance, not that he could, or push down. Yes, he wanted that, to just drive himself into Alex again and again but he couldn’t form the words to ask. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for.

The checks in Alex’s breathing turned to grunts, soft pleas with every twist of Hank’s wrist. His throat was exposed, his lips parted and bitten, and he smelled…exactly as Alex had said, different. Good. Hank sat up to pull at Alex’s shirt, needing to see more of him. Skin, so much skin, pale from lack of sunlight, pink where Hank’s claws had passed. Hank’s big, blue hands were too rough but Alex only opened his eyes.

“Fuck, bozo, you gotta… You have to…” he murmured indistinctly and Hank growled again, animal as he worked a thumb under the head. Alex tensed and shot into his chest, white, hot jets that made Hank itch with heat to see.

Hank stopped rocking his hips forward the moment he realized he was doing it, but otherwise stayed where he was to study Alex, wondering if Alex would have a similarly difficult time getting his mind to work again after his release and when he did, what he would say.

“Not bad, for a virgin.” Alex briefly shut his eyes again, but he offered a sideways grin as he caught his breath.

Hank couldn’t bring himself to ask if it had been _not bad_ enough to do this again. But he dragged a finger through the mess of Alex’s semen and sniffed it. A moment later he licked it, mulling thoughtfully over both the texture and the taste.

Alex choked.

“Aw, what are you doing now, weirdo?” He was still so breathless.

“I wanted to know the taste. I will need to, if I ever…progress further in physical contact with another male.” It all seemed very reasonable, but perhaps that was the whiskey. Science, experimentation, they had always been there for him in potentially awkward situations, like when almost admitting that he wanted to pull Alex Summers close or crush him to the bed.

Alex scowled. “Another male?” He let his leg fall back to the mattress, away from Hank, and Hank shivered. “Progress further?” He demanded a second later, still frowning. It was probably the alcohol and the effects of orgasm that were slowing him down. “But…but you can’t…guys can do _this_ …” he gestured at their bodies, “But anything else…” Alex swallowed. Before he turned his head to the side, Hank saw the confusion, the longing.

He might be drunk and new to carnal acts, but Hank knew that he’d had enough mourning for what could not be. He let the growl emerge. Alex looked back at him, startled.

“In this house, with the others here, with Charles Xavier, I think we can be whatever we wish to be. What we _are_.”

He could not say mutant and proud, not yet, but it was close enough that maybe Raven would have smiled the way Alex did, slowly, shy and young. He raised a hand and Hank took it and brought it to his mouth. There wasn’t fear on Alex’s face, not even at the thought of Hank’s teeth, and his expression was still too hopeful for Hank to call it _hard_.

“Just don’t think you’re kissing me now, not after what you just did,” Alex declared but then wet his lips. Hank followed the path of his tongue and exhaled.

It was an unusual invitation, not exactly direct, but it stirred the usual heat in Hank’s middle, made him feel like smiling as he lowered himself down over Alex. Alex’s lips parted for him, like Alex’s every word was a lie, but they burned sweet and tasted like whiskey, and it was Alex who put his hands to Hank’s back to welcome him and hold him where he was.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains a (not so) subtle reference to _Bringing Up Baby_ because I love it so, as well as a comment about the book, “The Mask of Sanity” an early text on psychopathy. Poindexter is capitalized because it refers to a very specific college type nerd from the _Felix_ cartoon. The song is from 1962. Sam Cooke was the man.


End file.
